


In the Clouds

by riana_hawke



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blue-Purple Hawke, F/M, Family, Fluff, Mage Hawke (Dragon Age), Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 05:44:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17461718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riana_hawke/pseuds/riana_hawke
Summary: At home in the depths of winter, Hawke and Fenris finally have some time for themselves -- although it doesn’t exactly go according to plan.





	In the Clouds

Hawke was rummaging around in her son’s old clothes when she found them.

“Now, how did you get here?” she murmured to herself, and was about to wedge them back between the toddler-sized hats and mittens when she stopped and realized what she was looking at.

She’d bought two pairs of ice skates last autumn, on a whim, with some of the coins she’d earned helping to repair an old mill. She was holding one of the skates in her hands now. It was simply but sturdily crafted, attached to a leather sole and wrapped with matching leather ties that could be used to fasten it to a shoe. The metal blade glinted in the early morning light that was streaming through the window of the bedroom she shared with Fenris, intensified by the snow that had drifted onto the ground and the trees.

Neither of them had found the time to use the skates in the past year. Hawke had left for Skyhold before the first frost, and Fenris had bundled their little one into his cloak and followed not long afterward. They had returned only a month ago with the unexpected additions of a baby and Fenris’ mother. The transition had been stark, going from the crowded, crumbling halls of a mountain fortress to the chirping of birds and yipping of fennecs in the forest, and the everyday hustle and bustle of a borderlands town on the Waking Sea.

Hawke gave the skates another curious inspection, the same way she had at the market stall. The clothes chest where she’d stashed them was clean and dry, and they were ready to be worn sometime, someday, whenever there was --

“Mummy, look!”

Marcus stumbled into the room with a pair of trousers flopping on his head and striped socks on his arms like gloves. He beamed and held out his hands to show off his work.

 _Not this morning, at least_ , Hawke decided, with smile and an internal roll of her eyes. _Which means not tomorrow morning, or the next._

“Very inventive,” she said, and stashed the skates away before telling him to go dress himself properly for once, silly boy.

 

~*~

 

She forgot all about them for nearly a week.

The days passed in a steady stream, filled with odd jobs, the endless rota of caring for two young children, and afternoons at the apothecary attached to the local clinic. Now and then, she was also sought out for the cases where healing magic was most needed. A high fever, an unwanted pregnancy, an open wound. They weren’t far from Jader here, and the effects of Leliana's first edict as the Divine were already being felt.

Late one evening, Hawke was called away to the scene of an emergency. Once her patient's broken leg was mended and they'd received a packet of medicine and a promise of a follow-up visit, she made her way back home. The glow of the crystal at the end of her staff was the only light aside from the stars and the gibbous moon. The fresh snowfall had cast the forest in silence. It made the crunch of Hawke's footfalls almost unnervingly loud.

An owl hooted in one of the trees that loomed over the sides of the road. She had a sudden urge to call out a reply. But should she use the Trade Tongue or owl-speak? What if she botched it and accidentally told the owl to piss off? You might say that would… ruffle some feathers _._

Hawke felt very pleased with herself. She’d have to save that one to tell Fenris later.

As it was, her first concern was getting warm again. There was no plume of smoke coming from the chimney when the house came into view, its thatched roof and aged blocks of stone dappled in moonlight and shadow, and sure enough, the windows were dark except for a single candle in the main room and another in the room to one side of it.

Hawke fiddled with the front door -- it had become ever so slightly misaligned while they were away at Skyhold and now it kept getting stuck, the damned thing -- kicked the snow off her boots, balanced her staff against the wall, pulled off the boots and scarf and cloak and dumped them around the bench next to her staff, paused to pick up one of Marcus’ rag dolls and give it a comfortable seat on the other end of the bench, extinguished the candle with an icy pinch of her fingers, and went over to one of the two bedrooms.

“Fen, are you…?”

He was not. He lay sprawled on his stomach, with one arm tucked under his pillow and the other hanging off the side of the bed. He hadn’t bothered to change out of his tunic and leggings, which made sense considering how drafty the room was. The thick soles of his feet were covered by a pair of woolly socks.

Fenris had said he would wait up for her, even as he’d let out an unconvincing yawn. He’d spent the day repairing a damaged axle at the forge and working on a set of cloak pins at the same table where they’d prepared dinner. _It’s fine, love, there’s really no need._ He’d kissed her and leaned back against the wall. _I want to. I have enough here to keep myself awake_.

Hawke squatted down and picked up a string-bound folio from where it had fallen on the floor ( _The Rogue of Montsimmard, Chapter 17: The Mysterious Maze!_ , said the woodcut on the cover). She reached over and ran the sides of her fingers down Fenris’ cheek. His eyelashes cast a soft shadow in the candlelight. Less romantically, his mouth was completely slack and mashed into the pillow, where a dark puddle was spreading.

Hawke crossed to the other end of the room. While shelving the folio next to Chapter 16, which she’d been catching up on last night, she realized she was being watched.

“Hello there,” she whispered, looking down into the cradle next to the bookshelf. “Aren’t you supposed to be asleep, too?”

Carina stared back at her with a curious expression on her round face, framed by small-pointed ears and wispy curls. She made a little “o” with her mouth. Hawke mimicked her, then leaned over and hefted her out of an enormous nest of blankets. She’d fed her not long before leaving, and Fenris must have changed her, since she smelled clean enough. So Hawke paced the room, swaying from side to side, and hummed a lullaby until her finger slipped out of the baby’s grasp.

As she held her daughter, Hawke wondered about how late it was and how early sunrise would arrive tomorrow. She’d have to get up before it anyhow. She thought back to lazy mornings in a four-poster bed, in a life so utterly different -- before betrayal and war and a Fade-green sky -- that there were times when it no longer felt like hers. More like it belonged to the woman in _The Tale of the Champion_ , and the rumors, and the legend. It was harder still to connect herself with the girl who had waded through tall grass in the fields of Lothering and lain down, hidden and still, and watched the clouds drift through an endless sea of sky.

She thought about her mother, then, and wondered how she had felt at this age and how she would feel if she were with them today. To hear that the Circles of Magi had been disbanded, and no more mothers would have to fear their children being stolen from them by the Templars. To see her daughter using healing magic on a broken leg, while being watched with eyes that were nervous, but grateful.

For a moment, Hawke let her own feelings well up to the surface. All the loneliness and pain. The regret, and the last trickle of self-blame that she had spent so long trying to rid herself of. She’d been trying to ignore the voices that found her in the Fade while she slept. Sometimes as desperate pleas, other times in accusation, disappointment, rage, despair, _you failed to protect us, why did you let him kill me, I should never have --_

All false.

Hawke squeezed her eyes shut. Tensed, relaxed, let out a sigh. She slowly opened her eyes again and focused on the earth-toned tapestry that decorated the wall.

Then she kissed the baby on the forehead and went to wash her face.

A few minutes later, the mattress gave way with a soft thump.

Fenris made a groggy sound and shifted onto his side. A thread of candle smoke wafted through the air.

“Hurry up, love,” said Hawke, rubbing her bare arms. “I’m freezing.”

He sat up and stared blankly at her, and then down at his lean legs stretched out in front of him. By the time she had burrowed under the covers, he had removed everything but his smallclothes and shoved it all onto the floor.

“So does this mean you haven’t finished the chapter yet?” she asked.

“Would you care to hear what happened?” he replied, in a voice thick with sleep.

“How dare you,” Hawke muttered. He was spooned against her back now and had wrapped an arm around her, enveloping her in warmth and the scent of his skin and slept-in linens and soap flecked with herbs. She covered his hand with hers, just under the uncomfortable weight of her breasts and above her soft belly patterned with stretch marks.

“Scoundrel,” she added, when he didn’t take the bait.

“Oh! You’ve got to hear this one. So while I was on my way back...”

“...Fen?”

Come to think of it, he had probably still been in the Fade that whole time.

 

~*~

 

Fenris laughed awkwardly.

“I’m serious,” said Hawke. She gave him an expectant look while she fastened the hidden front ties of her thick blue dress.

He coughed into his fist. “I had thought we might use our spare time to… go for a walk.”

“They’re not mutually exclusive,” Hawke replied, fixing her neckline so that the marigold-colored border was even. “We’d be going on a walk to get to the pond, after all. Same thing when we go back.”

“Frozen solid and covered in bruises.”

“On our arses, yes, that’s the idea,” said Hawke.

Fenris squinted at her through the collar of his undershirt. He pulled it on, settled it around his narrow hips, smoothed out the front. Eventually, a faint smile crossed his face.

“I recall it was…”

“Fun?”

He raised a dark eyebrow.

“Oh, please, Fen. We had fun. Remember how we celebrated at the Hermit’s Lantern that night?”

“I do.” He smirked. “I also remember the wine.”

“Ha! It’s a good thing we’ve got our own now.”

They stuck to the ale on tap when they visited the local tavern these days. One sip of the wine there had caused them to make faces that had sent toddler-aged Marcus into peals of laughter. Fenris had pronounced it “a fine table vinegar.” It was actually quite tasty when they dipped their bread into it.

Hawke lifted a basket of knitting clutter off the trunk in the corner and dug around for the ice skates.

“These ones should be easier to move around in, at least,” she said, over her shoulder. “Much better fitted to our feet.”

While Fenris finished getting dressed, Hawke took the skates and placed them on the bedspread, then rearranged the mess of clothes in the trunk. She stood back up and stretched, and noticed that Fenris was lifting Carina out of her cradle. The baby grabbed at his nose, which twitched slightly as he smiled. A blurp of spit-up ran down her chin.

“I will take that as a compliment on your breakfast,” said Hawke, dabbing at the baby’s face with a towel from the washstand. “Now let’s go see whether your brother has gotten into the jam jar again. He doesn’t always wait for the toast, does he?”

 

~*~

 

Hawke prodded at the molten embers of the fire. It was currently feeding on the last few twigs from the basket and yesterday’s ash-covered log. She moved aside as Fenris crouched down next to her and placed a few oval slices of bread next to the kettle on the grate.

“I wonder what’s taking them so long?” she said, as she stoked the fire again.

Fenris shrugged one shoulder and glanced over at the window. No point in that, of course; it was too fogged for them to see anything. The snow had begun to fall again after Hawke had arrived home last night. When Lusia and Marcus had opened the back door this morning, off to gather kindling, their breath had billowed out in clouds.

“They won’t have gone far,” said Fenris. “We could go out and look for them, to be sure of it.”

“Mm. In a little while, then.”

Fenris stood back up and went over to the wooden drying rack on the other side of the fireplace, where he started folding laundry into piles of diaper cloths and inner-layer clothes in various sizes. On the rug nearby, Carina wiggled around on her stomach and gnawed on a soft toy that her nana had sewn her.

Hawke wandered over and began to rub Fenris’ upper back, along the shifting planes of his shoulder blades. The grey wool of his tunic was slightly scratchy. One of the threads had come loose from the multicolored embroidery around the notched border. She traced along where it met the base of his neck, the lines of his lyrium tattoos disappearing into white hair. He let out a low sound of contentment, so familiar by now that she would know him by it without seeing his face or feeling his touch. It gave her a small bit of peace, but not enough.

“I almost wish Marcus were still clinging to me,” she said, finally. “Like when I came back to Skyhold.” She rested her chin on Fenris’ shoulder and nestled her face in the crook of his neck.

“You were deeply worried by it at the time,” Fenris reminded her. “He was inconsolable when you went to take a bath or attend a meeting, that first week. I don’t think any of us would want to return to that, Hawke.”

She sighed and was about to respond, but then stopped and narrowed her eyes. “Hold on, the toast is burning.”

While she flipped both pieces over and scraped off the charred bits, Fenris went to finish slicing the loaf of bread on the table. He put the full plate next to the hearth and settled himself next to Hawke, one knee bent and an arm draped casually over it. He looked over his shoulder for a moment, toward Carina, who was still occupied with her brightly colored cloth cube.

“I didn’t mean… I do understand your meaning, why you want to keep him close. These days, the nightmares the Fade shows me…” He trailed off, his mouth a tight line. “Sometimes it doesn’t seem real. Your return from the Fade, or our daughter, or my mother. Last night I dreamed only Marcus was here. He ran into the forest and as long as I searched, I never found him.”

Hawke wiped the corner of his eye with her thumb. “Well, he’s loud enough that I doubt you’d have that problem in real life.”

“No, I suppose not,” said Fenris, with a small chuckle.

“And as for me…”

She leaned forward, slowly, hesitating, watching his reaction through lowered lids. She waited until his lips parted and his eyes began to close. Then she darted forward and peppered him with kisses on every last inch of his face and neck.

Fenris laughed and held her closer with one arm, flailing the other behind him to steady himself.

“How’s that for proof?” said Hawke, breathlessly. “Tell me a Fade demon could come up with that.”

He kissed her again, his lips soft and not at all hesitant.

“I am convinced.”

Then that horrible smile spread across his face. The one that started with a secretive tug at one side of his mouth and showed the lines at the corners of his eyes and made her stomach do joyful flips, even twelve years after they’d first met. He was far less dour these days, and yet that smile still transformed him. Maker, her own face must be turning bright red. Some adult she was. She buried it in his chest with an angry noise and felt the rumble of another laugh.

From the other end of the rug, Carina let out a happy shriek and flung her cloth cube away. Unfortunately, it didn’t come rolling back. She grasped at the rug but couldn’t pull herself very far; from what Hawke remembered of Marcus’ babyhood, it would be another few months before she got the hang of crawling.

Hawke disentangled herself and went to scoop Carina up and settle back down with her by the fireplace. Fenris took care of the toast, and retrieved the cube from under a chair and moved it through the air like a bird until it landed in Carina’s chubby hands. She waved it up and down with a toothless grin.

"I assume that means 'thank you,'" said Fenris. “You are most welcome."

Hawke turned the cube over in Carina’s hands, exclaiming at the different textures and trinkets sewn onto it. “Your nana is so clever. Look, this one is called velvet. Bonny Sims gave you a whole bolt of this when you were born. Do you remember her?”

The baby cooed and patted at a shiny piece of metal fixed to the dense, smooth fabric. It was a lopsided circle of summerstone, its surface hammered into rippling scales.

“Can you guess who made that?” said Hawke, in a conspiratorial whisper.

Fenris ran a finger over the design. “I had meant it to be finer, in my head.”

“Hmm. Isn’t that the way of it? At least it’s better than that hideous scarf I made.” She’d been close to losing her mind with boredom while on bed rest at Skyhold. Plus one baby, minus a large amount of blood and the strength to stand. Oh, she’d laughed herself to tears with that scarf.

She wasn’t sure whether to be touched or completely mortified when Fenris wound it around his neck on cold mornings and tucked it inside his cloak.

 

~*~

 

“...and then she was crunching some twigs, so we stood there because Nana said don’t move and I sneezed and she got startled, but she didn’t run away, and she twitched her tail and…”

Hawke listened attentively as Marcus narrated the story of how they had encountered a deer on their way back from a detour to the privy. She poured more hot water from the kettle into Lusia’s mug of tea -- the whole-leaf Seheron kind, from a jar that had traveled from a Minrathous marketplace to a tenement apartment, and then across the length of Thedas in a canvas pack.

The rising steam carried the fresh scent of flowers, spiraling upward into the cold blue light from the window. Lusia nodded in thanks and caught Carina’s hand before she could grab at the side of the mug. “No, no, Cari, don’t touch that, it’s hot.”

A few silver and black strands came loose from the coiled braid that Hawke had done for her earlier, when Lusia’s joints were frustratingly stiff from the cold. She had apologized for the effect of the pain on her temper, and Hawke had reassured her that it wasn’t any bother, and adjusted the hot compresses on Lusia’s hands before starting to ramble about how she’d cut and styled her siblings’ hair in Lothering and Kirkwall, with a few disaster stories that had sent both of them into fits of giggles.

Living with a mother again wasn’t like… whatever she had hoped it might be, reflected Hawke, but things were going well enough. After everything they'd lost, and the years spent without peacetime in sight, even the most mundane things seemed less so. Hawke wasn't sure how many more of these mornings there would be. She tried not to ruin them by thinking on it too much.

“...and then she hopped away and poof!” Marcus flung his hands up. “All the snow fell down from the trees.” He made little sprinkling motions over his father’s arm.

“You may well see her again soon,” said Fenris, taking an apple wedge from the cutting board.

“Mm-hmm!” Marcus chomped into a slice of jam with a thin layer of toast.

Lusia settled the baby more securely in her lap. “I thought we might try out that cake recipe today, Marcus.”

His eyes lit up. “Cake?”

“Close your mouth when you chew,” said Hawke.

He gulped. “Are we going to make a _whole cake_?”

“Now there,” said Lusia, in a grave tone, “is a question. Could we make half a cake, if we put our minds to it? Or does a cake always become a whole, even if you use only half an egg?”

Marcus stared at his plate with a thoughtful expression, mouthing “half an egg” to himself.

Lusia’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Would either of you like to help us?” she asked.

“We-e-e-ll, as a matter of fact...” said Hawke, with a glance at Fenris.

He glanced back, over his half-eaten toast. “We plan to take a few hours to go ice skating. If you would not mind looking after Carina,” he added.

“Ice skating?” Marcus’ eyes were about ready to pop out of his head now.

“It will be no trouble,” Lusia replied.

“We’ll teach you next year,” said Fenris, anticipating his son’s next question.

There was a knock on the door that cut through the conversation. Three unsteady raps, two loud and one quieter, as if they had taken some effort to produce.

“I hope there hasn’t been another accident,” said Hawke. She put down her slice of toast and dusted off her fingers.

Fenris swung his legs over the bench before she could. “I’ll go see who it is.”

The open doorway was filled with a gust of winter air and a familiar figure, a creaking bulk silhouetted with the pommel and crossguard of a broadsword and a tangle of black curls.

“ _Uncle Carver?_ ”

He lifted an arm from his stomach and gave a stiff but friendly wave to his gobsmacked nephew, followed by woozy greetings to Hawke and then Lusia, who he'd only heard about in letters. There was an alarming collection of dark stains splashed across the striped tabard and dented metal of his Grey Warden armor.

"Hey, good seeing you," said Carver, with an unfocused look at Fenris, who had gone mute with shock.

Then he promptly tipped forward and collapsed in a clanking heap.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to kadaransmuggler over at fanfiction.net for beta reading!


End file.
